Indian Food in Irish Pubs

My uber ride back home to West Jakarta across 35 kilometers of Jakarta traffic last night cost me 1 hour of my time and 90,000 rupiah (US$6.67). I’ve been debating whether I’ve wanted to lease or buy a car here, but the convenience of not having to deal with the stress of Jakarta traffic and responsibility of owning a car have prevented me from making any moves towards a future self with a car sidekick while here—something that really impresses the ladies, like a Toyota minivan.

Earlier in the day I met with Vara, an old friend that I had met at the very beginning of my time in Indonesia, in Kemang—an area in south Jakarta that is known for having fancy stores, great restaurants, and fun, expensive nightlife. She’s a dynamic, free-spirited, independent, and strong person. She has a beautiful smile, a heart that you can’t fit your arms around, and eyes that make men lose track of time.

After a traffic-delayed lunch and PG-13 drinks at a coffee shop across the street, we parted ways. I went to the gym to recollect myself and she went to meet some of her friends that had just finished a football (soccer) match. After my workout, I picked up a sub-par lamb gyro bowl on my way to meet with them. The GPS directions she gave me led me into the “slums” of Kemang. The locals would stop all activity and stare at me as I walked past them with my headphones plugged in my ears and my eyes glued on google maps from my Samsung Galaxy 6. When I looked up to meet their gazes, my smiles were met with curious stares, “what’s this ‘Bule’ (foreigner) doing here?” When I looked higher, I could peak through the low tin roofs to see lights emitting from the 24 storey “Estate” blocking any view of the sky. It’s not like we could see the stars anyway. Too much light and man-made pollution.

I finally found her and her friends at the most peculiar place: an Irish pub that serves Indian food. The pub was actually quite full; filled with ‘bule’ men and local girls. The two groups were constantly scanning the room trying to find the "exception." Her group was at a table near the bar. After introductions and some small talk, my friend and I went to the “family” portion of the restaurant to have dinner. I ordered a gin and tonic and we split naan and Chicken Tikka Masala.

Sandy, one of the guys from the football group hobbled over and joined us. He’s tall, kind of boyish, curly light brown hair, and quite young (possibly younger than me). He received the only red card in the football match and sprained his ankle.  It was a tough loss. As customary when you meet other foreigners, you ask questions to get the following information: [name] [where you’re from] [what are you doing here]. While it’s a bit repetitive, it helps you cater to your audience. It wasn’t too hard this time. From the get-go, it seemed pretty obvious that he wanted to talk about money.

Sandy’s company hired him to open their market in Indonesia by working with regulators to crack down on small-scale illegal importers that sell their goods over social media. It seemed like every sentence had a price-tag associated with it. You know how they say that you shouldn’t believe what you see in the movies? Well, I’m too cheap to go to the movies anyway.

Halfway through dinner, one of his friends stopped by the table and asked for the name of a massage place that’s known to have amazing “talent.” He wrote it down on a napkin and handed it to his friend. He told me his clients always look forward to going there, everything is a “10.” It’s not all fun and games though. Vendors leave keys to expensive hotels and vacations on his desk, but he’s not supposed to accept anything; it's tough to say no. Whatever. In a couple years he can retire: he sold his own company a while back and is due for a huge payout soon. At the end of dinner, he took the bill without hesitation. I think he was trying to impress Vara.

“No need to pay me back, it’s my company card. I don’t pay for anything here, it's pocket change anyway. Buy some drinks for others the next time you go out.”

I called my uber and offered to give him a ride back to his place since he had injured his foot.

“I’m fine, I live at the Estate next door…”

“ahhh”

I wonder what his view is like from up there. Does he ever look down? Or does he only look up? It doesn’t matter. He’s in the midst of moving to another hotel in the center of Jakarta. He transfers money directly to the hotel owner’s bank account next week. The parties there are going to be sick.

I had actually gotten in the wrong car initially. When I entered the correct uber, I found that Rafol, the driver, could speak English. Sigh. I had spent five minutes giving him really bad directions in broken Bahasa while I waited for him to arrive. I had a long way home, so I engaged in some small talk. Rafol had worked on a cruise ship for a while before losing his job. He starts another six month tour with another cruise company in August.

“The hours are long, but the money is much better than anything that would pay over here. I just kept searching and searching. Being out of work is much worse though. It’s been pretty tough, but it’ll get better.”

As I handed him some money to pay for the toll, I looked up at his eyes. I couldn’t tell if they were red and wet from a long day of work, or red and wet from all the stress he’s endured during his 1.5 years of unemployment. I feel like I see a lot of those eyes here. But they always come with such genuine smiles.

When I was younger I really enjoyed watching a short anime called “kino no tabi.” It follows a girl and her talking motorcycle as they traveled across the world visiting different cities. The premise of the anime was that “the world is not perfect, therefore it is beautiful.” I liked that. There’s good and bad, things that make you happy and sad. It’s hard to see its beauty past those red, wet eyes though. Medicated eye drops might help.

As I got down from the uber, I tipped Rafol 50,000 rupiah, bringing his net income from the one hour ride to 140,000 rupiah (US$ 10.37). He told me I was his last stop for the night. He had a 2 hour drive back to his home in East Jakarta. I think my tip might have covered the toll fees home.

Elevators and Traffic

Before I was in Indonesia, I had been working as a federal consultant in Washington DC. On this particular day, I was at our Arlington office near Courthouse station and was on my way to the optometrist to get my eyes checked out for blurriness that was making it hard to see. I had just undergone knee surgery for a torn ACL a couple months before, and it was still a little sore. So instead of walking the extra 1000 feet or so to take the escalators and walk down to the station platform, I decided to take the courthouse elevator.

This is the courthouse elevator.

It is the S L O W E S T elevator I have ever taken in my life. It has no reason to be this slow. There are only two buttons, mezzanine and street level. People rarely take this elevator; because it is so painfully slow. Every time, you expect them to have fixed the elevator. And every time, you are horribly disappointed. It's like choosing the wrong line at TSA and watching the family with 3 little kids and a stroller beat you through security, every time.

One of the lifestyle changes I've been trying to implement in my life has been "leaving bait." It's pretty simple. Leave bait, and hope people bite. Say hello, and hope people say hello back. After that, you have to pull in the slack, weave left and right, etc. It's fun. Sometimes you meet really cool people. To leave bait well, one must analyze each situation and person carefully. Sometimes, all it takes is a compliment. Other times, it requires intense eye contact and erotic body undulations.

This time, I decided to comment on the elevator as three of us walked inside.

"This is quite possibly the slowest elevator I've ever taken."

Standing in the opposite corner of the elevator was a short, 50 year old Latino man in dusty construction clothes. The leathered wrinkles around his eyes are the type people get when they smile too much.

"I don't think it's slow at all, I think we could all probably learn a thing or two from this elevator."

I'm not a particularly religious person, but I feel like God spoke to me through that Latino man. The whole time I was in DC, I complained that "DC people are always so rushed in a place where congress is grid-locked and nothing gets done." I guess I had begun to get sucked into that rushed lifestyle without knowing it. It's important to take a step back and breathe.

And there is no better place to take a step back and collect yourself than in Jakarta, especially when dealing with one of it's beasts known as Traffic (I would hold your breathe here, everything's so dusty). Traffic is so bad here that I could probably fly to another country in the time that it takes to get from one side of the city to the other. But I guess you make the most of it. I practice bahasa Indonesia with the cab driver and once I've run out of Indonesian words in my limited vocabulary, I get to take a step back and reflect on the whirlwind of a life I've been leading. When you do get out of traffic though, I think it really helps you appreciate the time you spend hanging out with friends and learning from them.

In the US we use the term, "time is money." Here, Indonesians use "jam karet,"  which means "time is like rubber, it's flexible." While you might have plans one day, you never know when a friend or a neighbor will randomly stop by, or traffic will prevent you from making your event. Things can always be done tomorrow.

Jam karet. I like that. The dollar bills in your wallet are replaceable. They only last a couple days. The moments you share with others will warm your heart forever.

People are important. What else do you think you'll take with you to heaven?

Dear Pat

I hope you're doing well! Thank you for hosting me during one of my stops in Europe. While I really enjoyed all the places I visited, I think the most memorable parts of my trip were the people I met along the way. More specifically, thank you for engaging in big talk with me; for asking me questions that challenge my desires and sharing stories that expanded the horizons limited by my experience. As I move forward in my life and career, I look forward to opportunities where I am able to practice your ability to blend with many diverse peoples and live a life that is vibrant, passionate, and sincere.

In one of our conversations, I shared having conflicted feelings between living my own life vs. finding a "good, stable" career that will fulfill my "obligations" to my parents. You had mentioned that I should follow my own passions.

As many 2nd generation Asian American youth, there's internal conflict between Eastern and Western Cultures regarding how one should take care of his parents and fulfill their expectations. In my experience, in Asia, children are often expected to take care of their parents when they get older. I remember being asked by my Indonesian relatives if I would have children: "who will take care of your when you're older?" Whereas, in the US, there's a mindset that you don't owe your parents anything. A few of my professors in University reiterated this mindset:

"If you reject your passions and follow your parents’ wishes, who will you be living for when they pass away?"

I was frustrated with the clash of cultures as a Chinese American. I'm not Asian enough to be Asian. And I'm not American enough to be American. As such, I don't have any easy predefined roles to follow. I stand in the middle trying to define a role, a recipe, a set of directions for myself.

On the plane on my way to visit a couple best high school friends living in San Francisco, I watched a documentary called "My Life in China" by Kenneth Eng. The documentary follows the story of how his father "walked for 7 days and 6 nights before swimming for 4 hours to Macau to escape starvation in 1966" (Link). He made the trip twice. He got caught and was sent back the first time. What. The story went on to explain the jobs he took and the decisions he made to survive, his eventual move to the US, and his feelings of failure ever since his restaurant went bankrupt.

Without much money, my parents moved to the US for school in the early 80s in pursuit of the American dream. Their college experience differed greatly from mine. While my college years were sprinkled with international travel, comfortable living, and no concern for real life, my parents walked 40+ minutes to the theatre on Tuesdays to watch discounted movies, lived in crammed apartments, and worked campus jobs to make ends meet.

Even after all that, they fought to enter a predominantly white workforce in search for a H-1 Visa such that they could eventually get a green card and start a family in the US to give their kids a better life. They fought through cultural barriers, communicating in a second language, discounted pay, side jobs to cover rent, periods of unemployment, and prejudice from their coworkers and community among many other obstacles to create a beautiful life for my brother and I.

It’s difficult for me to describe the amount of adversity my parents faced because I myself have never really experienced any of that. My parents provided my brother and I with the best opportunities in school and extra-curricular activities. They always told Santa exactly what we wanted for Christmas while forgetting to mention their own wishes.

And I complain about being unhappy when I had a great job with awesome hours and even better coworkers…

So when I sit down and really look at the amount of hardship and sacrifice my parents have endured to provide for me, I want to reframe the "obligation" into an honor. To earn the respect from those two pioneers couldn’t make me any happier.

I grew up spoiled. I wouldn't be where I am today without the help and influence of those around me. My accomplishments started with my parents. I can't thank mom and dad enough. Through triumph and struggle, they have been there every step of the way. 

I hope I was able to describe some of the feelings that I and other 2^nd generation Asian Americans might experience. I think there are multiple ways for people to handle similar situations. But for me, this way just feels right.

Can't wait to meet again!

NK

P.S. As a side, I may have expressed discontent because I felt limited by my engineering degree. However, with this new job in Indonesia, I realize how lucky I am to be an engineer, especially one from the US. The doors are all out there, it’s just a matter of having the courage to approach them and putting in the elbow grease needed to open them. It’s possible to pursue my passions and make my parents proud at the same time. Yes, I’ll have my cake and eat it too. I’m that hungry.

This masterpiece was created when I was 19 years old. My family.